Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
What’s harder is feeling jealousy flaring in my blood.
How old is this son, anyway?
How well do they really know each other?
The thought of some pizza slinging doofus on her home turf climbing through her window for a quickie after Arlo’s asleep robs a little enjoyment from the cheesy goodness.
I swallow roughly.
I know, I’m being ridiculous.
But I can’t get mad at Arlo for making friends with a guy who isn’t true competition for a woman I’m not fucking after.
All around the apartment, you can see how simple his life is.
His small toy pile in the corner. A little desk with pencils and pens and crayons piled on top, mostly bundled together with rubber bands. A few photos of Salem and Arlo on the wall.
There’s one propped up on the windowsill, showing him as a baby. A worn-looking Salem holds him with a tired smile on her face.
In that photo, she looks a lot like the girl I remembered.
Not as glamorous, maybe, but with the same reddish tint to her hair and the same youthful glow to her face.
“Sorry it’s a mess here. If I knew you were coming, I would’ve straightened up,” she says, bringing my attention back to her.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Even if I hadn’t seen her photos, I’d remember better times, when we were younger and more carefree.
The way her hair, still half-damp from the snow, falls around her face probably has a lot to do with that now, making her glow. Plus, the way her cheeks look deliciously red.
Damn, the last time I saw her this flushed was—
No.
The intrusive thoughts about sexy times that can never happen again must end.
I can’t believe I ever gave Dexter so much shit about his fake-engagement-turned-real when I’m this goddamn obsessed with a hookup from ancient history.
“Your place is charming,” I say, remembering my manners before the silence stretches too long. “Homely and real.”
“Um, thanks.” Her eyebrow quirks. “You can spare me the compliments. I’ve been to your mom’s house. That place is a palace compared to here.”
“Yeah. Hasn’t changed a beat since I was Arlo’s age. I don’t like it.”
“Your mom’s house? Come on.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t cozy. Just that the big Victorian mansion isn’t my style with its size and suffocating history. If you ever visit my place, you’ll see.”
For fuck’s sake, man. Stop encouraging more visits from her outside the office.
“Oh, I have a pretty good idea what you like.” Her mouth presses together like she’s suppressing a smile. “Minimalist. Modern. Black and white and grey.”
“Is that so awful?”
“No, but this apartment isn’t any of those. More like a cluttered box from the Great Depression.”
“It’s homey.” I’m adamant.
“Yeah, okay. But thanks for not using more choice words where little ears can hear.” She snorts.
I nod at Arlo’s pictures and the photos on the wall. Everything is worn, just enough that it feels like they’ve lived here for a long time, settling into the very bones of the apartment.
“My mother’s place isn’t particularly homey anymore. I might’ve felt that way as a kid, once, but now that it’s just her living there? The place is cavernous. Too extravagant and too huge for just her, even if she likes hosting her parties. We keep wondering when she’ll downsize, but it’s hard to get past the memories.”
“Let her have them, Patton, if she can afford it. Your mom’s a lovely person.”
“Never said she wasn’t.”
Salem acknowledges that with a tilt of her head and glances at Arlo. He’s basically nodding off over his plate after polishing off a second slice.
“It’s been a long day,” she says quietly. “Let me put him to bed. You can make yourself at home.”
I stretch out on the sofa and help myself to more pizza. All the stress with the snow summoned a monster appetite. The rest of the pepperoni can stay—easy leftovers that will make the kid happy and hopefully save Salem from having to cook tomorrow.
Arlo’s head lolls on Salem’s shoulder as she carries him to bed. The tenderness in the gesture makes my stomach pinch.
It’s sad as hell that she has to deal with this little guy on her own when clearly someone helped make him. My eyes flick back to her photos again, studying them closely.
There’s no sign of a man in any, and oddly, no pictures with other relatives either. Where the hell are her parents?
It’s a shit feeling, knowing the kid might not have a father or a grandfather at all. I can’t wrap my head around it.
Having lost my old man, though, I know what it’s like to be missing a dad.
Also, Salem deserves help.
After the day she’s had, she shouldn’t have to handle Arlo by herself, bouncing from one crisis to the next with dinner in between.
I have just enough time to polish off the remainder of my food before she reappears and joins me on the sofa, leaning back just like I am. Her thigh hovers about an inch from mine.